


Lest We Forget

by ImplicationsProblematic



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Armistice Day, Gen, Remembrance, Remembrance Day, Sacrifice, just a little something, not really sure what this is supposed to be, poppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImplicationsProblematic/pseuds/ImplicationsProblematic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus asks Shepard about the poppy she is wearing and gains an insight into human tradition and history. It occurred to me that Remembrance Day is pretty Turian in nature- I think Garrus would approve.</p><p>This just came to me this evening as I watched the Remembrance Day coverage and wouldn't let me sleep. Even though it's now past midnight and no longer Armistice Day. Ah well.<br/>Super quick and not even checked through.<br/>Not hugely Shakarian, but it hints at it- particularly if you want it to.</p><p>Credited poems are OBVIOUSLY not mine and I don't own the bioware characters blah blah blah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lest We Forget

“Shepard,”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her datapad, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Yeah Garrus?”

“What’s that?” He pointed one talon at the object pinned to her uniform.

“This?” she asked quizzically. He nodded and she unfastened the decoration to pass it to him.

It was small in his three fingered hand; a paper and plastic representation of what he assumed was a native Earth flower. Its paper petals were very red against his dark glove.

“So… it’s a brooch?” Garrus looked at her crookedly. Shepard laughed.

“Not exactly.” She set her datapad down on the mess table and took the seat opposite him. “It’s a human thing. Not all humans, just some of them- it’s Armistice Day, or Remembrance Day, or- hah, Poppy Day. That’s what this is,” she tapped it where it lay in his hand. “A poppy.”

“I’m afraid I’m still not following you Commander.”

“Okay,” she paused. “About…. 270 years ago on Earth, there was a war- a big one. Most of the time it’s known as The First World War, because it _was_ the first human conflict on such a wide geographic scale. And it was an especially pointless war;” Shepard’s voice was melancholy. “-it wasn’t good versus evil, it wasn’t really fought for anything, and it achieved fuck all except a lot of death. **A lot** of death. Men- boys- leaving home to run into gunfire and die in misery because politicians made bad decisions. Anyway, a lot of the fighting- most of it- happened in one particular area of Earth, the north of a country called France. Which, incidentally, is where the Battle of _Normandy_ was fought-” Garrus gave the Turian equivalent of an arched brow. “-but that was another war a couple of decades later…. Anyway… The land was completely destroyed by the fighting- utterly utterly devastated, but eventually, years later, things began to grow again, including poppies.” She tapped the flower again. “Millions of them, right where the soldiers fought and died- seas of red.”

“Like human blood.” Garrus nodded.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Hang on a sec.” She tapped something into her omnitool, brining up what looked like a poem. She cleared her throat.

 

**_“In Flanders fields the poppies blow_ **  
**_Between the crosses, row on row,_ **  
**_That mark our place; and in the sky_ **  
**_The larks, still bravely singing, fly_ **  
**_Scarce heard amid the guns below._ **  
  
**_We are the Dead. Short days ago_ **  
**_We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,_ **  
**_Loved and were loved, and now we lie_ **  
**_In Flanders fields._ **  
  
**_Take up our quarrel with the foe:_ **  
**_To you from failing hands we throw_ **  
**_The torch; be yours to hold it high._ **  
**_If ye break faith with us who die_ **  
**_We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_ **  
**_In Flanders fields.”_ **

 

“So yeah, poppies became sort of a symbol of remembrance for that war, but all the ones since then too. A reminder of the sacrifices of war- of the good people we’ve lost.”

“Like Ash,” Garrus murmurred.

Shepard smiled sadly.

“Exactly.”

Garrus twirled the plastic stem between two talons. Human sentimentality perplexed him at times- but this, this was sensitive, but sombre, military and respectful- borderline Turian. This he could get behind.

“That’s actually a pretty nice tradition Shepard. And people say humans have no soul.”

Shepard just laughed at him.

“Glad you think so Vakarian.”

“Commander,” he called after her as she walked away. “Your uh, poppy.” He held it out to her.

“Keep it.” She smiled. Garrus stared at her.

“Why?”

“I don’t know- to remind you that humans have souls- just indulge your Commanding Officer’s whim like a good Turian, hmmm?”

“Aye aye Shepard.” He smirked and, after a small pause, added- “Thanks.”

“No problem Garrus.”

 

 

_**Here dead we lie** _  
_**Because we did not choose** _  
_**To live and shame the land** _  
_**From which we sprung.** _

_**Life, to be sure,** _  
_**Is nothing much to lose,** _  
_**But young men think it is,** _  
_**And we were young.** _

**A E Housman**

 

**Author's Note:**

> The first poem is 'In Flanders Fields' by John McCrae and the second is 'Here Dead We Lie' by A.E Housman. I love the war poets and these two aren't even my favourites, but were the most appropriate ones that came to mind right at the second of writing.  
> I have no real idea what I was trying to do with this little fic- but I had to get it out of my system.


End file.
